


you know i think you're awesome, right?

by scoutshonour



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Brief homophobia, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mentioned Joyce Byers, Mentioned Nancy, Post Season 2, Protectiveness, Romance, are all dating each other, mainly jonathan / steve but like they, this is an angst free zone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 18:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12731685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutshonour/pseuds/scoutshonour
Summary: Jonathan's eyes dart to the ridiculously luscious hair on top of his boyfriend's head, wondering how the hell is boyfriend's hair is better than his girlfriend's (and why his isn't nearly as nice).  Wondering how he even has a boyfriend and a girlfriend, too, but he's really always wondering that.(or: a cozy night between two boyfriends' while their girl is too busy being a 4.0 student)





	you know i think you're awesome, right?

**Author's Note:**

> peeps into the stranger things fandom  
> i really don't know how to write these characters but !! interpretation and all right 
> 
> i wrote this in one go plz @ me if there's a grammar mistake. what's a beta?  
> alsoooo this is jonathan / steve centric mainly bc i've been in such a jonathan /steve mood - don't worry, I love Nancy too, and eventually she'll end up in a fic, just not this one
> 
> title from homemade dynamite by lorde and featuring fifty other people

Jonathan hears the rumors; how Nancy's fucking the freak and Harrington, but rumors are starting to get out about him and Steve, too. Nancy isn't really affected; there are whispers of her crazy sex life (if only they knew just how crazy) and how she's a 'slut', but no one dares say anything to her face. Steve has this armor, this protection that comes with being one of Hawkins' elite. Jonathan's not so lucky.

He ignores the spray paint on his locker and stays after school almost everyday to scrub it out. On this particular day, it's like the person used permanent ink; the red writing won't fade, and his fingers are starting to numb. He just continues despite the pain searing through each digit, scrubbing and scrubbing, because no one else will. The janitor's given up, saying there's no point if it's up everyday, and the school's repaying him for not doing shit by just letting him spend half an hour after school. 

Scrubbing, scrubbing, and scrubbing.

"Byers, what the fuck are you doing?"

Jonathan doesn't shift once he hears his boyfriend's amused voice, continuing to wipe furiously at the sheet of metal that refuses to cooperate with him. 

"What the fuck do you think?" Is his sarcastic, gentle reply. 

Jonathan never really used to swear, until Steve weaved his way into his life.  When you spend so much time with someone, you pick up some of their mannerisms: sarcasm and swearing, for example. He nearly swore in front of his mother, who'd stared at him with an arched eyebrow.  _Continue,_  she'd said, and he swears, he'd seen an amused glint in her eyes as he stammered a response.

"Thought you said the janitors were taking care of it."

Jonathan falters, squeezing the damp sponge in his hand. So yeah, he hadn't told neither Steve or Nancy about how  _he'd_ have to clean his locker everyday. It was redundant,  useless, sure, the variation of the same thing always finding its way back to his locker. 

But he did it anyway.

"Hey,  _look at me._ "

He doesn't have much of a choice when Steve leans in, tilting his cheek until Jonathan has to look at him. Jonathan's eyes dart to the ridiculously luscious hair on top of his boyfriend's head, wondering how the hell is boyfriend's hair is better than his girlfriend's (and why his isn't nearly as nice). Wondering how he even  _has_ a boyfriend and a girlfriend, too, but he's really always wondering that. 

Steve's fingers are warm against his skin and he looks around - they always do, in public, just to be safe - to make sure no one's there. He's heard distant stories from across towns and states of people like them being hit, beat, and worse things for being caught. They're not risking anymore bullshit.

The school is mostly deserted, save for the secretary who just files out paperwork, never checking the security cameras.

Even then, he only rests his forehead against Jonathan's, brushing his lips forward just for a fraction of a second. He's never this timid when they're behind closed doors.

"I'm fine," Jonathan huffs.

"Liar. And a shit one at that."

"Fuck you, Harrington."

"Mm, you can once you tell me the truth."

Cheeky little shit. Jonathan softens when Steve's finger glides up to underneath his chin. "Where's Nance?"

"Stop changing the topic -"

"Well?"

Steve clicks his tongue. "Study group. She's with her and her AP nerds. Now stop wasting your time and let's leave."

Nancy's been overzealous of school, now. Her semester is filled with AP courses and she's been stressed out, pushing herself further than is safe for the past two weeks. Jonathan and Steve have been campaigning for a night with no school, no homework, no bigots from school, no talk of supernatural beings, and just. Them. 

Preferably without clothes, too.

But she's been busy, and they can wait for their girl. 

There's a sharp intake of breath, Steve grabbing the sponge from Jonathan's hand and flinging it across the corridor, landing by the music room. His gaze noticeably drops to Jonathan's crotch, and he's about to quip about how goddamned horny Steve is, when - 

"My parents aren't home."

And yeah, Jonathan's pretty horny. When you're dating Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler, it's only natural.

That's enough incentive for Jonathan to forget about his locker and climb into Steve's car, rolling the window down, and playing the music too loud. Maybe he was lying when he said he was okay, but he's not going to worry Steve. The Steve who can barely sleep, who's dealing with nightmares, and severe panic attacks. Or Nancy, who's still grieving, who's so filled with anger and pain all the time.

He can handle being called a fag by a dumb-ass like George Luddington.

Jonathan pretends not to notice Steve watching him from the corner of his eyes, noticing his hand reaching out to lower the volume. "You didn't mention you were still having problems with your locker. This is some fucking discrimination or bullshit - the school can't let you be treated like this. I'll fucking call them, I'll leave an angry voicemail, write a letter -"

Jonathan chuckles, ducking his head a little as Steve's spare hand flies around, making vague hand gestures. "I get that you've practically adopted six kids, but don't go all soccer mom on me."

"Look, ass wipe, I care about you." Steve cuts through another chuckle from Jonathan, sliding his hand on his knee with more confidence than in the hallway. "I have connections. If it's Tommy, I'll get him to stop, honestly -"

"I'm fine." He dismisses it, and despite the annoyance in his voice, he interlaces their fingers anyway, holding Steve's hand until they reach his house.

Steve's house is almost always empty and Jonathan and Nancy do their best to be with him as much as possible. They're always together, but still. Jonathan gets away with having him over at his place, though he thinks his mother is catching on. She'd walked in on Steve blowing Jonathan and just. Walked out. Jonathan had ran after her. Here's the thirty-second conversation that ensued:

Jonathan, with a pair of boxers quickly pulled up and falling down his thighs: "Mom, wait! Are you...are you mad?"

"I just don't want to see my son getting head, Jonathan. I'm not mad, honestly. But I thought you and Nancy...?"

"We are. I mean, I'm not cheating or anything. We, uh - we're all dating. All three of us."

"Just be safe. I have condoms in the bathroom if you need it. Don't be silly, wrap your -"

Jonathan proceeded to walk away, smiling a little at his mother's laughter that rang through their small house. 

She still lets him over. It's weird, though, how Steve will spend half his time with Will too, playing games, talking about anything, really, but also super precious.

The second they're inside, once the door is shut, and it's certain no one will see, Jonathan surges forward, grabbing Steve by his shirt's collar, and kissing him. Steve makes a flabbergasted noise against his mouth, easing into it. "What was that for?"

"I couldn't do it in the hallway. So." 

Jonathan shrugs and plops over to his favorite seat in Steve's house, the recliner chair that rocks a little too easily. 

"You want something to drink?"

"Water's good."

He and Nancy have visited his house dozens of times.  He remembers when they were first friends - or whatever you'd call Jonathan trying to befriend the person who used to date his girlfriend, who he nearly died with - and how awkward it was. How awkward it wasn't. Steve still drank then, and yeah, Jonathan's glad he's stopped (make his nightmares worse), but Buzzed Steve was hilarious.

_You know, Byers ... people tell me I have nice hair. And I do, obviously, but yours is nice too...Pretty. Like you. Like Nancy. Pretty, pretty, pretty..._

(Jonathan still brings it up just to see the flush of Steve's cheeks.)

Steve comes back with two cups of water, waits for Jonathan to finish his before he starts to speak, clearing his throat first.

"I was serious, though. I have power over the school - it's the sexy hair - and I can get anyone to stop. Just say the word, Byers, and anyone who even looks at you wrong will be castrated."

Steve curls up in Jonathan's lap, stretching his legs out, extending an arm out to play with Jonathan's hair.

It fills Jonathan's heart as he compares Steve when they first started dating to now; he'd been so apprehensive, so shy, probably having to do with Jonathan being a boy. Steve had opened up later how it felt disgusting, his attraction to Jonathan, the fact that he actually  _liked_ him, but realized it was all crap. It started gradually, as unlearning anything drilled into your head since birth can be: kisses that lasted longer, touches that lingered, grabbing his hand, a hand on his outer thigh. 

He's proud that Steve doesn't hate this part of him anymore.

"You're hurting," he continues, "and I know, I know what you're thinking, okay?   _I'm Jonathan Byers. I'm broody, I have no feelings, my eyes are nice -"_

"Harrington..." There's a stupid grin on Jonathan's lips as he tugs him closer, not willing to admit out loud how much he adores Steve's (terrible) impression.  "You think I have nice eyes?"

He's not trying to deflect, honestly. 

Not _entirely_ at least.

Steve just rolls his eyes. "Oh piss off, you have nice everything, Byers."

Jonathan laughs as Steve nuzzles his neck affectionately. "You want me to prove how well I know you?"  He says softly. 

Because Jonathan's semi-amused and Steve's giving him this cocky look that makes something in his pants twitch, he manages a nod.

"I think...it's hurting you. That you're not telling us because you think your problems are insignificant and are burdening us and that it doesn't matter. You want to suffer in silence so we don't. You don't want me to do anything, because it'll help confirm that I'm screwing you, and you don't want anything bad to happen to me."

Steve stares pointedly at Jonathan who'd look away if his face wasn't inches from Steve's or get up if Steve wasn't sprawled over him.  "Annoyingly accurate."

It makes him frustrated. Exhausted. He's received more crap than most for being lonely, and now that he has friends, he's still getting crap? From those brats whose best years will be in this place, making everyone feel terrible, fucking anything that moves, priding themselves on how  _different_ and  _special_ they are.

Who fucking cares who he sleeps with?

Because he  _really_ wants them to rethink their priorities. 

It's not fair, just like it's not fair that people - people who claim to like and be friends with Nancy - call her those things, as if it makes any statement about who she is. Nancy's a brilliant person, and more than who she sleeps with. She's not defined by Steve or by Jonathan, and the same goes for Steve, and -

well, the same should go for Jonathan, too.

But he ignores it, shoving it down until he can pretend like it doesn't matter with ease. 

"Look, I - I'm a big boy. Just - just let me handle it, okay? It's not like anyone's hurting me or breaking my camera." 

He just slyly looks at Steve who gives him a reprimanding slap on the shoulder for bringing up the incident and trying to diverge the conversation again. "You punched me.  _And_ I got you another one. So shut up."

Steve hooks an arm around Jonathan's waist, as if they can't get any closer. "Look. I'll respect your stupid opinion and wishes, but I'm also going to offer that you use my locker. It's fucking ridiculous that you have to go to a locker calling you a queer. You're not - it's not - god. It's not fair. I should be able to hold hands with you if I want to in public. You're my goddamn boyfriend." 

Steve's eyes flash with fury, his hand balled up into a fist. 

Jonathan's anger is quieter, less fiery than Steve's, who burns and burns and burns. Burns with anger about what he's seen, about what's happened, about how they have to hide all the time.  Nancy's different; they'll kiss her in public, daringly so when someone like Carol stares with disgust, and it's good. But with each other...the world isn't ready for something as normal as that, and yeah, they love being affectionate with Nancy in public, but they wish they could do the same.

Without fearing the tainting of their reputation of them and their family or - and this is really only affects Steve and Nancy - their family finding out period. 

Jonathan just lets Steve release all of the steam, shifting a hand until he's soothingly rubbing Steve's back. "I know. I know. One day - we've gotta hold out for that, right?" 

Steve kisses the tip of his nose, foreheads knocking together for the second time that afternoon. "Yeah."

They sit in comfortable silence, and Steve eventually stands up promptly, tugging on Jonathan's hand toward the stairs. 

"What - what're you doing?" 

Steve gives him a flat look. "They're calling you queer. Let's go be queer."

Jonathan stifles a laugh and follows his boyfriend up the stairs, into his bedroom. 

After a few hand-jobs and fucking with heavy breathing and shaky legs and breathless moans, Jonathan collapses onto Steve. "Your orgasm face should be illegal." It's his attempt at flirting, at being 'playful', something Nancy will teasingly claim he's incapable of doing. 

"Literally what the hell are you saying, Byers?" 

They still use surnames, purely out of habit, out of the biting fondness that comes with each of Steve's drawl of 'Byers' or Jonathan's low, concise "Harrington." It's what's known to them, what's comfortable, and Byers' just sounds so attractive from Steve's throat.  The only time they'll use each other's first name is - well, doing what they did a few minutes ago. Right when they're on the brink of heaven, when there's a satisfactory tug of hair, a swirl of a tongue that hits the right spot, or a slow, lazy thrust.

Or when Jonathan says: "I love you, Steve."

Right when a pillow hits Jonathan in the face, thrown by Steve in an attempt to tease him. "You  _what?_ " He shrieks, because it's the first time Jonathan's ever used those string of words. At least, out loud.

Because he's thought it. Numerous times, the words coming to him sporadically, at random, casual times. When Nancy's just come out of the shower and her hair smells like flowers and her skin is glowing and she yawns and drapes herself over Jonathan's chest. When Steve's trying to be cool and lean against his car like a supposed bad-ass with a goofy grin and his messy, ludicrously beautiful hair and his crinkled eyes from a grin and the fond way he'll call out to Jonathan. Or when it's all of them together and the sunlight hits their cheeks and someone's leg pokes his back and Steve's bitching about how the grass will stain his jacket and Nancy throws a handful of grass at him just to piss him off.

The words just come out of his mouth casually and with ease, and he's partially glad that a pillow is blocking his view so he can't see Steve's face or his reaction.

Steve, who just let out a horrified noise at the idea that Jonathan loves him.

Great.

"I didn't - I mean, I did, but -" He breathes in and out, and sets the pillow down, forcing himself to look at Steve. Really look at him. "You don't have to say it back, not because I said it."  

Steve looks almost confused, sitting upwards. Jonathan straightens his back, hoping the thudding of his heart isn't as loud as it is to him, lifting a leg until it's by Steve's torso.

"Do you mean it?"

"Of course."

Steve kisses him fervently, and if Jonathan shuts his eyes and concentrates, there's an 'I love you' somewhere on Steve's tongue. And yeah, he's a little disappointed not to hear the same words from him, but it's okay, it's fine, he's still dating him, and it's really not a big deal if Jonathan thinks about it -

"I love you too, Jonathan." 

His heart clenches, curls inward, then uncurls outward. 

Over and over.

"You don't have to say - if you don't mean it - not ready, I get it..."  He prays Steve isn't just saying it to avoid awkwardness.

"I do, though. Love you.  You and Nancy, you both - you're both so - "

The feelings are always hard to describe so Jonathan understands. If he had to describe it, it'd be coming home after a long time. Immense relief and comfort and warmth and safety and pure, unadulterated love.  Something that people write and sing about, the kind of love worthy of books and movies and television shows. 

"I know, I know," he murmurs, thumbing Steve's cheek. "I didn't tell Nancy yet, but I will - I will." 

"Me too."

Jonathan stares into Steve's eyes. They remind him of the ocean; beautiful, powerful, calming, and everything. (-He feels the same about Nancy's eyes, except they remind him of a hurricane.) It gives him a vague idea of a photograph,  but he'll plan it out later. Not now.

There are more important things to do. 

They're more action-people, so Jonathan just gently grasps Steve's dick, relishing in the surprised, pleased gasp that escapes his mouth. "Let me just solidify that love. Can I -"

"Go down on me? Fuck yes." Steve says excitedly, a goofy, dopey smile on his lips. 

Jonathan laughs, scooting downward, and he feels on top of the world.  It's not like his life is perfect, but it's good.

 _This_ is good.

He never really pictured his life to be like this. To fight what should just be in his brother's games, to nearly die, to lose his brother (thankfully then finding him), to have actual friends, to not be lonely, to not be by himself all the time. To date someone. 

Two someones. 

It's not usual, sure. Three people, all dating each other, all together, the way he, Nancy, and Steve are. Most people don't date two people.

But there _have_ been stranger things.

**Author's Note:**

> come bug me elsewhere
> 
> tumblr: trulyalpha  
> wattpad: scoutsword


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